


Silent Prayer

by Greychu



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, God!Steve, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Stony - Freeform, human!tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-08-30 00:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8511886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greychu/pseuds/Greychu
Summary: Tony Stark would have died right there in Afghanistan if it were not for a god. Well, minor god.





	1. Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> Written in quite a rush. The idea hit me and I had to put everything on hold until I finished it. I might have messed up some points in greek mythology, but I can only read so many references. Not even sure if Steve's name is acceptable.
> 
> Would love to hear everyone's opinions for this, though I'll probably only put out another chapter of this, already only planned as a two-shot. Enjoy~

Raza, the leader of the terrorists, hits him with the butt of his gun, his vision goes black as Tony drops to the cave floor. 

“Tomorrow, Stark. I grow tired of your games.” 

Yinsen fixes him up as best he can, and Tony fights the dizziness the threatens behind his eyes, but they both know that Tony can’t give what Raza wants, not with the amount of time he’s been pouring into the suit.

“We don’t have much time, Mr. Stark.” 

“You heard the man. Tomorrow.” Tony mumbles through his teeth, tastes the blood on his lips.

##########

It’s tricky, very touch and go, as Yinsen boots up the temporary OS into the suit, and helps Tony get in, straps down the metal to his arms and buckles his legs in. 

“It’s not going to finish in time.” Yinsen gasps, throwing a frightened look from the computer to the open door. 

“It will, just give it some time.” Tony grits out, sweating even as the progress bar hits ninety. 

Yinsen grabs the rifle from their dead captors arms. “I’ll buy us some time.” 

“No! Stay here, think about your wife and children.” Tony pleads. 

“My family is dead, Mr. Stark. I can finally see them again.” And like a mad man, Yinsen rushes out the door, sending a spray of bullets towards the approaching men. 

It only takes two bullets for him crumple, Tony ripping out the cords as the suit goes online. Gritting his teeth, he empties his gun in front of him, switching to the flamethrower when he run out.

Yinsen is dead, his body left in the dark as Tony fights his way out of the cave. 

The situation is bleak. Even with the suit on, there are too many men, too many guards to fight. The sun is blinding to him, after months of having nothing but a lamp to light the dark, it almost feels like punishment. 

Raza has too many men, and he likes to think that he’s caused enough damage to ensure they they will shoot to kill. But it’s not enough, he knows there are more people like them, who will get their hands on his weapons and use them however they like in their thirst for power. 

He needs to destroy those weapons, wipe them off the face of the earth so that no one can abuse them ever again. But he can’t do that while he’s dead, or half-buried in sand, or whatever miserable existence they might deem him worthy of. 

But his chest hurts, his core’s power nearly depleted with the amount of energy required to move the suit. He’s only guaranteed ten minutes of power, any more and it would drain the core completely, then the shrapnel would slowly find their way to his heart again, killing him at a snail’s pace. He’s had to remove the suit completely, before it drained any more power.

There’s yelling, and Tony startles as the sounds get closer, curling behind the suit in some semblance of cover. 

He needs more time, just a little bit more time, to right his wrongs and undo the damage he has done to the world. 

Tony has never been a praying man, but he does so in that moment, hands clasped together, desperate and out of plans, he utters a silent prayer, to God to any god, to help and save him.  
The yelling only seems to get louder, they must be searching high and low for him, it would only be a matter of time before he is found. 

And then, one of them rounds the corners and spots him, gun held up and pointed at Tony. The first few shots ricochet off the suit’s metal chest, but one bullet lodges itself in Tony’s leg. 

He screams with pain, hand cupping the wound, blood quickly stains his tattered pants. He grits his teeth through the aftershocks, body starting to go in shock. 

His shooter is already making it down the path, gun ready to finish the job. The man yells something at him, but it becomes apparent that Tony doesn’t understand him, no doubt his impatience will run out and he’ll kill Tony for all the trouble he has caused. 

Tony’s going to die anyway, and he knows it. There are no medical supplies in their little camp, nothing to stop him from bleeding out, it would be a miracle if he lasted the day. 

So he stares down at the terrorist, even as his yells get more and more irritated, gun pointed aggressively at him until the man presses the tip of the rifle right to Tony’s forehead. 

“Go ahead.” Tony mutters, the words lost to the language barrier. He’s tired, so tired after so many months of living in fear of his oppressors. He’s done with that now, ready to face death head on. 

It doesn’t come. A man falls from the sky, crushing the terrorist with the force of his fall, the unmistakable crunch of bone and splattered blood. 

Tony can only stare as the man, dressed in some kind of dark blue tactical suit, the material clinging to every muscle desperately, turns to him. He’s fucking gorgeous, windswept blonde hair cropped perfectly, startling blue eyes, jaw set in a determined line. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Not Tony’s greatest moment. 

The blonde smiles, looking kinder than he did a moment ago. 

“I go by many names, most lost to time.” Even his voice is perfect, a rich baritone. After so many months of listening to broken english, the sound of his American accent is like music to Tony’s ears. “But I was last known as Stevos, the minor god of courage and compassion.” 

Wait. God? What?

“What?” 

“You had prayed, and thus I have come.” Stevos laughs, like one would at the innocence of a child. 

“Yeah okay, minor god, uh. Thank you?” 

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. There are still other men about. I’m afraid they are long overdue for punishment.” 

The god raises his hand, and a round shield flies to him, fitting into his palm perfectly. He moves faster than anything Tony has ever seen, moves with a grace that Tony would equate to the flight of birds, if birds could make killing beautiful. 

It’s like a dance, one move into the next, not a motion wasted. With every step there is power, every swing of his shield there is precision, like a fine machine that only has one purpose. The men don’t stand a chance. 

By the time Tony painfully extricates himself from behind the suit, the camp is silent. Bodies strewn across the area, he spots Stevos with another man, this one dressed in a green and gold cloak. Tony picks his way through the debris, and overhears the tail end of their conversation. 

“-mine, Loki.” Stevos is saying, sounding very much like an end to a discussion. 

Loki, flicks his eyes at Tony, and only seems to smile, though there is something sinister that sends a chill to Tony’s spine just by that look. 

“Very well, your claim is sound. You are picky enough as it is with your Patrons.” Loki smirks back at Stevos. “Good luck with this one.” And he disappears, leaving a trail of gold in his wake, scattered to the wind. 

Tony thinks the blood loss might be getting to him, today’s been a weird day. 

“Lay down you silly thing, before you lose any more blood.” 

Stevos mutters something that suspiciously sounds like ‘ _mortals_ ’ and fusses over him, makes his lean against debris and then conjures a medical kit out of thin air.

“Stay still.” He commands. He pries the bullet out from Tony’s leg. Tony does nothing to muffle his scream, only screws his eyes shut when the pain becomes unbearable. It’s a short affair, but hurts like hell, in no time, Stevos is bandaging his leg. 

“Am I dead?” Tony blurts out, the aftershocks of pain still pulsing from his wound. 

“No, but you were very close, if that was your intention.” 

“So. A god, huh?” Tony ventures.

Stevos gives him an amused look. “You find it hard to believe.” 

“No, no. It’s just. Maybe a little.” 

“It is alright. Many have forgotten the old ways, you are not the first to doubt the existence of gods, nor will you be the last.”

“So err, thank ye, minor god of courage.” 

“And compassion.” Stevos adds. 

“I don’t know about you, 'o powerful god, but I don’t see much compassion here.” Tony gestures at the slaughter around them. 

“Compassion is sometimes a quick death, to those already suffering from sickness.” Stevos points out, tugging sharply at Tony’s bandage. 

“Okay, point taken.” Tony grunts. “So are all gods like you? Stupidly handsome and sassy to boot?” 

Stevos laughs. “No. Some are even more impressive, but most of us have quirks of our own. Mortals often have a habit of calling our squabbles petty, and I do have to agree.” 

“So you are a greek god?” 

“Minor god. And yes, I was alive during the greek settlement, as was my mother, Athena and my father, but lay to slumber during the roman conquest. The world has changed much since then.” He says almost sadly. 

“So what, you just hang around wherever?” This was all amazing and it fed Tony’s curiosity, unless Tony was going insane then he was going to have to start worrying about imagining all this. 

“Or similar. Sometimes we walk with mortals when we can, watch what the world has become and intervene where we see fit.” 

“Like you did with me.” 

“Yes.” Stevos admits, blushing. He looks to the cave. “Your friend, Ho Yinsen was also brave, but he was a man ready to embrace death, he longed for it so I found no reason to deny him that.” 

“You, however, still had the will to live, and I thought it a shame to let all that courage go to waste. You aim to change the world, perhaps you can do so, perhaps you cannot, but I believe you deserve a chance to try, Anthony Stark.” 

The way the ‘god’ says it, without a condescending tone that sends a tendril of warmth in Tony. But there must be some kind of catch to this, if there was anything that myths and legends have repeated time and time again, it was that nothing was ever for free. 

“And in exchange? Why tell me all this now? What was that Patron thing that the green guy talked about?” 

Stevos regards him, those blue eyes unearthly in their clarity. 

“You are a man of great intellect, no doubt you will always questions, some I may not be able to answer but I will tell you as much as I can. A god is only as powerful as the number of their followers. I am sure you are familiar with Hephaestus?”

“Sure, that greek god who makes all the other god’s weapons and shit.”

“The god of invention.” Stevos corrects politely, though there is a quirk on his lips. “He builds and crafts more than just weapons, but tools and machines as well. If you were born a demigod, there would have been no doubt that you were child of Hephaestus. As it is. He often laments the missed opportunity to gain such a son, but it is these cases that humble even the strongest of gods that mortals can grow to be more capable without our meddling.” 

Stevos pauses as he secures the bindings on Tony’s leg. It still hurts and throbs, but at least he’s not bleeding all over the place. 

“There are still builders who pray to Hephaestus, who seek his guidance for their craft. Fishermen still pray to Poseidon, god of the sea, to keep their boats safe during a storm. Athena, my mother, has followers who look to her for wisdom, or the occasional college student who has their finals coming up. Most gods are needed, in one shape or form. Names may change, but intentions remain the same. The stronger the belief of their followers, the more powerful a god can be.” 

Yeah, okay. So Tony gets it. It sound archaic at best, but people wish for things all the time, ask guidance without a real name behind their prayers. And from that, the gods must get some kind of special juice for being wanted or whatever. Okay, he understand that. 

“For minor gods, however, a large following is difficult to obtain. By obscurity or similar, we could never hope to be as strong as our parents, so instead we gather Patrons to keep us in power. So long as we have Patrons who believe in us, we may remain in one form or another.” 

“So, what? You just want me to believe in you? Like Tinkerbell?” 

“I get that reference, but yes, very close. I need you to believe that I am as real as can be, think of me from time to time, keep me in your memories and live by what I stand for.” Stevos says earnestly. “In return, I shall lend you my strength should you need it. I do not need your answer now, but I will know when you accept it in your heart.” 

That was… Quite the offer. A strength of a god for him to use? And all he had to do was believe that Stevos was real. 

“And if I refuse? Would you kill me just to shut me up?” 

“Then I leave you be. I mean you no harm, Anthony Stark, I shall leave if you find my presence distasteful.” Stevos gives him a kicked puppy look. 

“No, no, no!” Tony backpedals, shaking his arms wildly. “Your presence is very much appreciated. Like, you’re so gorgeous, I could stare at you all day and never get tired. I’d do it right now but my leg hurts and my back aches from sitting like this.” 

“Oh, of course.” Stevos exclaims, but Tony can see that adorable little blush darkening the god’s pale skin. He wants nothing more than to see if that blush goes all the way down if it weren’t for his injuries. 

Stevos helps him get up, the god’s touch is warm on his hand, and scoops him up. He doesn’t look at all burdened by Tony’s weight. Tony takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around the god’s neck for balance. 

“There is a search helicopter a couple miles out. Your friend has been searching for you for months, he’ll take care of you and ensure your journey home.” Stevos explains, apparently ignorant of the way Tony wants to touch his muscles. Like all of them.

“Not meaning to pry but actually prying but why are you dressed like this?” Tony touches the material of Stevos’s clothes. They looked oddly militaristic, and definitely not what Tony would think a god would normally wear. It feels strange, like a mix of soft cloth and durable leather, cool to the touch but sturdy. 

Stevos shrugs. “This is what your mind envisions me with.” When Tony gives him a blank look he continues. “You envisioned your savior as a man in a tactical suit, I would go for to venture you wish I were military, something comforting that you would feel safe with. And thus my appearance shifted with your thinking. As I said, we gods draw our power from mortal beliefs, as such, we shapeshift to accommodate them as well.” 

“Soooo, if I think of you naked…” 

Stevos barks out a laugh. “It doesn’t work that way but I admire your bravery for asking.” 

It isn’t long before Tony spots the helicopter overhead, gets excited and starts yelling. The helicopter passes them, and then makes a turn. There are tears in his eyes as the reality that he’s going home sets in. 

“Anthony Stark.” Stevos says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. “I must warn you. When you return to America, you will face a foe that you will not expect. Promise me that you will stick to your beliefs.” 

“Wha?” 

“Promise me.” Stevos repeats sternly. “Promise me that you will not give up your fight.” 

“Okay, okay, I promise, geez, way to spring news on a guy.”

The helicopter lands a few feet away, Rhodey disembarking and jogging towards him. Stevos sets him down on the sand and Tony excitedly hobbles towards his best friend. 

“Tony, is that really you?” 

Tony can’t find the words to express himself, only buries his head onto Rhodey’s and nods over and over again, hugs as much as he can. He’s going home, he’s actually going _home_. 

“I can’t believe it. It’s a fucking miracle, how the fuck did you survive all alone?” 

Tony startles at Rhodey’s words, and whips his head to where Stevos was. 

Except.

He isn’t there. Even the trail of footsteps he had made looks different somehow, like. Not quite as deep as the weight of two people, but more like Tony had dragged his bad legs across the sand. 

Rhodey bundles him up and secures him in his seat, thankfully asks no more from Tony and look to him with such concern. 

“I’m going to contact Pepper as soon as we touch base. The hospital-” 

“No hospital.” Tony quickly interjects. It’s weird, his leg doesn’t feel as bad anymore, it can’t have been more than an hour. “I’ll take a cheeseburger though, and have Pepper schedule a statement for the press.” 

_I promise, Stevos._

##########

It was Obadiah all along. 

The mangled carcass of the beast that Obadiah deems to call a suit lays burnt on Stark Industries property. 

The drags the suit away, back into his lab, where no one can get their hands on it. Where no one else can hurt him with it. 

His own Ironman suit is dented in more places than one, and it’s a pain to remove each and every plate from his body. Bruises blossom from his skin, no doubt they will be worse in the morning. He shuts down the lab and clambers into his bedroom. 

Tony lets the pain and humiliation fall on him there. The fight is over, he can feel fucking sorry for himself for being so blind to the fact that his own godfather had hated his guts and had him killed. So wrapped up in himself that he failed to see the poison that had slowly corrupted the heart of Stark Industries. 

He needs to stop the spread, shut down everything and build from the ground up. Reassess all his employees until he’s sure that Obadiah’s poison is completely flushed out. The board of directors, he had to hold a board meeting as soon as possible. Now that Obadiah was dead, they would need to release a statement about the attack. The Ironman would have to be explained. Gods, there was so much to do, and he has to do it all alone, he can’t let anyone else touch this. He needs to- 

“Anthony.” There’s a warm hand on his shoulder, a voice he hasn’t heard for a while, Tony too tired to brush it off, and he wants the comfort too bad to be angry. Instead, all he feels is disappointment. 

“You knew this would happen.” 

“Yes.” There is resignation in the god’s voice, shame even. “I could not tell you any more than I had. This was your trial to face, I could not intervene even if I wished it.”

“You said you would lend me your strength.” 

“And I did. You had me ensure Pepper’s safety. She is in her home right now, shaken but fine. Happy is with her, they will have each other for now.” 

Tony finally looks at Stevos. The god looks as wrecked as Tony feels, bags under his eyes like he has slept for weeks, in a overly large shirt that’s crumpled in places. Strange though, it doesn’t make him look any weaker. 

Stevos smiles at him, even if he looks tired doing so, brushes a palm on Tony’s cheek, an expression so soft that it hurts Tony’s heart just by looking at him. 

“My brave little Anthony, can you not see? Can you not feel it?” Stevos eyes shine with excitement. “You have already begun changing the world. Tomorrow, the people will look to you as a symbol of hope. You need not worry, only hold yourself with pride and they will support you. They will cheer your name, and you will be known as a hero.” 

“But they won’t know yours, you won’t gain power from my fame.” 

Stevos deserves it more than him, Tony thinks fiercely. This being had saved him from his hell hole, gave him the opportunity to save himself from the pit he has dug himself, and yet asks for so little in return. 

The blonde god laughs, even now, it still sounds like chimes to Tony’s ears, clear and warming, he wants to hear that laugh all the time. 

“Silly mortal. I’ve told you already. A minor god needs only his Patrons to stay in form. I do not wish for more power, only enough to help those who truly need me.” 

They’re so close together, pressed as Stevos cradles Tony like he’s afraid that the man would break apart if he let go. 

It is Tony who makes the first move, taking Stevos’s hands in his own as he inches closer. At the first touch of their lips, Tony feels the spark that zips in his body, like his body is awakened by that simple gesture and he runs his hands all over the god’s body, over every crevice he could reach.

Stevos is timid in his venture, or perhaps polite, but he keeps his hands on Tony’s hips as they kiss. He presses his tongue to swipe at Tony lips, seeking entrance which Tony grants, groaning as that tongue ravages his mouth. 

With every moment that passes, Stevos seems to have a harder time controlling himself, he’s already started grinding his hips against Tony’s, hands pulling him closer to rub their lengths through the cloth of their jeans. 

When Stevos’s hand snakes up under his clothes, hands pressing to the front of Tony’s chest, Tony hisses as his fingers slide over a bruise.

“Anthony?” Stevos stops, clearly worried. 

“Nothing. Just a bruise. A little sore, you know.” Or he doesn’t. Do gods even bruise?

“Show me.” 

Tony rids himself of his shirts, grunts at the ache in his shoulders where the armor had pressed too far in. 

Stevos maneuvers him into bed, splays him out to his liking. His eyes shining even in the dark, taking in every dark blotch of skin. Gently, he kisses each bruise, Tony feels a surge of heat every time Stevos presses his lips to his skin, and pants as his cock gives an interested twitch to the proceedings.

“My sweet brave mortal.” Stevos whispers to his skin, breath hot over Tony’s nipple. “As your reward, tonight, I shall worship your body.” 

There’s a hot tongue on his nipples and Tony all but yelps, Stevos only needs to place a palm onto his hip to stop him from jumping off the bed entirely and that’s dizzyingly hot. Stevos lavishes his nipples with attention, twisting the other with his free hand. 

It isn’t long before Tony is babbling, begging for attention to his cock. He’s so hard that it hurts, his balls straining for release, and the god has barely touched him. 

Taking pity on him, Stevos strokes him with his hand, smearing pre-cum from the head to ease the friction. It’s a little bit too much, Tony strung too tight, he needs to come so bad, if only Stevos would quit teasing him. 

“Oh god, y-yes please, faster please, please.” 

“You beg so prettily.” Stevos hums, a hint of amusement even as he moves his hand faster. The pressure is just right on his dick, and he’s leaking pre-cum all over Stevos’s hand. “Would you beg for my cock like so, Anthony? Would you like me inside of you?” 

Tony comes with the thought of Stevos fucking him right then and there, vision whiting out by the intensity of his orgasm. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before, but now there’s a real chance of it happening and he just blew his load from it. 

He opens one tired eyed and frowns.

“Why are you still dressed?” 

“You never got around to undressing me.” 

“Well. You should have been naked five minutes ago.” 

Stevos laughs, and clothes shimmer until they’re gone. Tony’s treated to the sight of those muscles, every beautiful curve of Stevos’s body exposed to him like a lover. 

He reaches out to touch, run his fingers down Stevos’s abs and finally his dick. 

And gods he’s thick and long, bigger than anything Tony has seen, and Tony’s had his fair share of cock. 

“Uhm, I don’t think that will fit in me.” 

“O ye of little faith.” Stevos jokes, to which Tony snorts.

Tony tentatively touches Stevos’s length, curved proudly upwards with a drop of pre-cum just at the tip. He licks his lips and looks up for permission before he dives right in. 

Stevos is huge, he can barely stretch his mouth enough to take in his girth, but with Stevos’s enthusiatic sounds he makes a damn good effort. 

It feels good on his tongue, thick and heavy, a taste that is purely Stevos assaults his senses, and he likes the weight of it on his tongue.

“Oh Anthony, that is good.” Stevos moans, breathless as Tony sucks his cock, his hand petting the top of Tony’s head in enthusiasm. He’d just found his rhythm, bobbing up and down Stevos’s length when he’s pulled off. 

There’s no room for protest because Stevos is suddenly kissing him, and Tony won’t say no to that. He’s barely aware of the wet finger that circles his rim, gently probing until the muscle gives and a single hot finger pushes inside of him. 

His moans are muffled by the kisses, a second finger quickly pressing in after the first, pressing deliciously inside of him, his ass giving way to Stevos’s ministration. 

The third finger is pressing in with a slow burn, the rest of Stevos’s palm squeezing his ass whenever he’s knuckle deep. 

“Do you like that Anthony?” Stevos asks, crooking his fingers to where he knows would make Tony moan. 

“Oh yes, gods Stevos, fuck me properly with your dick already.” He’s impatient, and he really wants to feel that cock stretch him out. 

“In a while. I’d like to see you stretched by my fingers.” 

And the fucking god actually pulls away, parts Tony’s cheeks to watch his fingers slowly slide in and out of Tony’s ass. His other hand massages Tony’s thigh, and it sends shivers down his spine.

“Beautiful.” Stevos says eyes stuck to the view of Tony’s ass, adding a fourth finger that has Tony mumbling for relief. He’s hard again, like holy fuck he shouldn’t already be hard again but he is, erection straining between his legs, dripping for attention. 

“Please Stevos, please.” 

“Very well.” But even Stevos is breathless now, hovering on top of Tony as he lines up his cock and pushes. 

It stretches him that Tony has to wonder how he isn’t split in half yet. Stevos’s cock goes in, inch by torturous inch, covered in some kind of lube the god must have brought along with him. 

“Breath Anthony, I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Tony does as he’s told, shuffles his legs wider to allow the god more space to move. With a thrust, Stevos is all the way in, his hole stretched impossibly wide to accommodate his girth. 

“Amazing.” Stevos whispers, his fingers playing Tony’s beard, so intimate a gesture, and kisses him on the nose. “My brave Anthony, they will sing your name is praises, your image will be known throughout the world.” 

“Or you know, they’d retweet it on twitter.” Tony gasps, the god chuckles.

It isn’t long before Tony finds it comfortable to move, and Stevos bends Tony’s body into a position where he can fuck him deep, hands spreading Tony’s legs obscenely wide to push in further. 

They communicate in grunts and moans. Tony can tell that Stevos is holding back, eyes screwed in concentration even as he thrusts in and out of Tony’s hole. He’s hot to the touch, Tony’s can feel every push that that hot hard cock makes, hyper aware of the way it drags, the soft squelch of lube easing the burn of the stretch. 

Stevos hits his prostate almost with devotion, melting Tony into a blubbering mess within minutes. He doesn’t want to let go though, clinging to the god with his hands curled on Stevos’s arms, a hand burying itself in that mess of soft blonde hair, drawing him in close to kiss. 

He wants it to last forever, keep Stevos close for as long as he can, but his legs are starting to strain in this position, and his cock an angry red that demands attention. 

“Stevos, I need to come.” Tony moans, a jolt of pleasure shaking his voice when Stevos hits his prostate again. 

The god doesn’t say a word, but pulls back so that Tony is treated to the sight of the gods entire body. Stevos hoists up Tony’s leg and settles it to rest on his shoulder, the starts maddening pace. 

Tony watches. Every flex of muscle, concentration written deep in the god’s body, every thrust that Stevos puts in to bring him to completion. 

When Stevos finally strokes his cock, it’s a dam breaking apart. Tony shakes withe force of his orgasm, cock shooting spurts of cum all over his chest, wet and utterly satisfied. 

He feels more than hears Stevos coming as well, his own ass squeezing out every drop of cum that he can from the god’s body. His ass is filled to the brim with the god’s hot sticky cum, he feels it dribble out of his ass, sliding between his crack even as the god thrusts forward one more time to push it all in.  
It takes Stevos fifteen minutes to convince him that they should take a bath together. Damn the god’s stamina, all Tony wants is to pass out in bed, but he relents when Stevos casts those stupidly beautiful blue eyes on him. 

They sit in Tony’s tub, big enough for six people which means it’s roomy enough for two, but Tony curls close to Stevos, and the god utters no complaints when Tony rests his body over his. 

“Will you be gone tomorrow?” Tony asks quietly. 

“If you would like for me to stay, I can. But I cannot be here forever, Tony.” 

“Why not? You’re a god, aren’t you? Can’t you do whatever the hell you want?” Tony challenges, raising a brow at Stevos. 

Stevos answers by pinching him on the thigh, and chuckles when Tony yelps. “Even gods have to abide by some rules. You still have so much to do, you have so many plans already in your mind, and I would be too much of distraction to you if I was around all the time.” He continues while he washes Tony’s hair with shampoo, those fingers heavenly on his scalp.

Yeah okay, maybe having a god around would just up his procrastination levels by a bit. Just a little bit. He needs to build a new arc reactor for one, and make backups in case anyone tried to pry his heart out again. The Ironman could use some improvements too. He had been severely undergunned during the fight with Obadiah, he needed more weapons that could incapacitate quickly and easily, but could still fit in the panels of the suit. 

“Can you make visits, at least?” 

“If you call for me, I will hear it.” Is all Stevos says, which isn’t a yes, but isn’t a no as well, and Tony let’s that be.


	2. Silence in Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I kinda lied. This is NOT the ending chapter, but instead there will be ONE MORE chapter after this before the series officially ends. 
> 
> This is probably not the story that people want me working on, but I got so enraptured by this setting that I haven't really worked on anything else. 
> 
> When I finally do finish the third chapter, I'll continue with shorter chapters, almost prompt-fill like for this universe. Feel free to leave prompts, questions and whatever other comments for this godverse. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's commented and kudos. This little universe will soon shift gears.

He’s dying. Tony realizes that too late. 

He’d dismissed the pain in his chest, the tiny flairs that stutters to an ache, thinking it was just the shrapnel wiggling around in his chest, or ghost pains from the nightmares. 

But the dark lines are harder to ignore when they appear like spiderwebs over his chest. The last straw is when his chests starts to burn up and steam rises from underneath the plate. 

When he finally allows JARVIS to run diagnostics on his arc reactor, it’s not good news. The palladium core, the very thing powering the arc reactor and keeping him alive, was slowly poisoning him. 

Okay, that was fine though. He was a genius, he could find something to replace the core, he had time to solve this. 

##########

He begins drinking a concoction to battle the effects of the palladium poisoning. It’s also starting to get harder to function properly, when pain begins to become an everyday thing. Where his muscles freeze up and the pain runs its course. 

Tony doesn’t let Pepper know, she’s suspicious enough about the arc reactor ever since he’d had her replace it from his chest (again). She’s already up his ass for missing so many meetings at the company, but he can’t have an episode in front of them, not when he’s still trying to push for Stark Industries’s new image. Their stocks have been holding stable, especially when rumor has it that Tony Stark himself is working on the Stark Industries’s new product. But they’re still recovering from last year’s point drop since Tony had announced that they were no longer making weapons, and the death of Obadiah Stane. 

Being Ironman helps bolster the company’s reputation, but Tony quickly learns that the suit is killing him too.

His patience runs thin when he’s summoned to court, of all the stupid things. 

“I did you a big favor: I have successfully privatized world peace!” He announces to the court of assholes who make it sound like it’s his _civic duty_ to hand over his suit. 

Justin Hammer is exactly the reason why he can’t just give them any shred of information, who he humiliates with the scrapped video of his test pilot basically snapping his spine in some shitty Ironman rip off. 

It’s his first public outburst since coming back from Afghanistan.

And of course, Pepper and his PR group are on his ass the moment he’s free from the court. They beg and plead, something, anything about the Ironman that they can feed to the governing board before they write up a cease and desist on Stark Industries. Anything to keep the dogs off their back, just long enough until the public settles because the video of him being sworn at by the secretary of defense has reached a million views already and if they don’t calm things down, it could easily turn into a nightmare.

It all seems so trivial when he knows he’s going to die, but he doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of being whittled down. 

If he dies, the suit goes with him. 

##########

He’s tired. All the time. From the pain, from the secrets, from failing over and over again. The arc reactor, though very efficient with energy, still requires the metal alloy and chemical components that the palladium exhibits. And while palladium works fine in a machine, it does not do well when it’s inside a human body. His body, in particular. 

He’s reinforced his chest casing, modified it to be as airtight as can be but it’s not enough. The radiation leak is killing him, torturously slowly, and he’s running out of options. 

“Stevos.” He whispers one night, when he’s exhausted his resources and he wants to see the god again. He hasn’t called him since that night with Stane, he figures the god has godly things to do or something, but there’s some desperation now that he can’t put off.

Truth be told, he’s afraid that Stevos won’t come. He hasn’t exactly been brave for the past months, dread always feels like a few steps behind him. Drinking has turned back into routine, sleep comes sparingly without it. 

The god appears, almost ghost-like in the way he comes in the room, relief blossoming in Tony’s chest at the sight of him. 

Stevos is plainly dressed, a smooth white shirt that is deviously stretched along the plains of his chest, and pants that do nothing to hide the perfect form under them. There’s a tired expression on his face, bags under his eyes.

“Anthony?” Stevos inquires, already crossing the distance between them, brows knit together in worry. 

Tony takes a breath. “I’m dying.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m getting real tired of that.” Tony huffs, annoyed. It was almost like his illness was an afterthought to the god, he didn’t even look worried. 

Stevos’s blue eyes twinkle with mischief, and then suddenly there are warm, hot, hands on Tony’s body, inquiring as they graze over his shoulders, arms, and finally his chest. 

“It is this.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Irritation still in the front of his emotions but Tony can’t deny that he got a little hot when Stevos was touching him. And of course, Stevos acts like he doesn’t even notice the way Tony’s dick is starting to get attentive. Politeness, maybe. 

“Can you help me?” Tony asks, ignoring the way his dick suggests that it needs some help too.

Stevos bites his lip. “I cannot.” There’s resignation in his voice. 

The bit of hope that had started to grow in Tony’s chest fizzles out. “Oh… Is this like some kind of test again? Because swear to god, I hated the last test, it was terrible.” 

“No, test.” Stevos gives him a look. “This poisoning is caused by your technology. I am not adept to healing as others, but I-” He touches the arc reactor again, almost like he’s trying to get the feel of it. “It is connected to you. To your heart. Often the most difficult to heal.” 

“Yeah okay, no need to get all philosophical on me.” Tony dismisses, pushing away Stevos’s hands from his chest. 

Stevos only blinks and frowns. “Did I do something to offend you?” 

Honestly, Tony didn’t mind all the extra touches. “No. Well. No, no, no.” Tony says, in a burst of actual emotion. “You never came to visit!” 

That only seems to confuse Stevos. “You never called?” 

“Yeah, but does that mean you can’t visit? Like, you’re so vague on whether or not you can come around. How am I suppose to know if you have some god stuff that you need to do? What if _I’m_ bothering you? You can’t just _leave_ and tell me I can call you whenever, and it’s not like you actually said you’d come. You’re incredibly cryptic and mysterious about yourself. But you saunter in here and say ‘ _I know_ ’ like my life is on a fucking television up in the sky for you to watch and laugh at!” 

Tony breathes, catching his breath as his chest clenches in pain, glaring at Stevos for an answer. A part of his brain tells him that this is incredibly dangerous, reminds him of the ways Stevos could actually kill him without even trying. Shouting at a god was stupid in hindsight. 

But the god only seems to bristle, brows knit together. His eyes seem to delve deeper, looking at Tony but not entirely seeing in front of him, like he’s trying to parse his thoughts and connect Tony to them all the same. 

The silence stretches on, and Tony would be damned if he were to break it first. He wonders in the back of his mind if Stevos regrets making him his Patron. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, Anthony.” There’s a sadness that fills his voice. 

Tony grits his teeth, unmoved despite the kicked puppy look Stevos gives him. He must look like some petulant child, pouting and huffing at Stevos. But then what did that make the god? An absent father? He’s had enough of those, thank you very much. 

“Your ‘sorry’ doesn’t help me, does it.” He spits back, almost regretting his tone when Stevos flinches back but otherwise says nothing.

He’s mad, anger and frustration deep in his mind that he stalks off, screws open a bottle of scotch to get him through the night. 

“I’ll come visit you.” Stevos says quietly after Tony’s third gulp. 

##########

The Stark Expo is his attempt to leave his genius as his legacy, a celebration of the technology that is, and has yet to come. 

Letting the reel of his father’s documented speeches is his way of making amends. He hadn’t honored him much in life, it had been difficult living in the constant shadow of his old man, and his father hadn’t exactly been the most nurturing parent but he needed something for the press. 

Vaguely, he’s reminded of when his dad used to do these Expos himself. Back when it was a huge event, and the Stark family had to be present as a unified front, or at least until the pictures were taken and Howard needed to talk to other people more important than his family. 

There’s still that bitterness that bites at his heart at the mention of his old man, lingering pieces of broken memories that deem themselves appropriate to dwell in his mind. 

But still, he puts on a smile for Pepper and gets the show on the road. 

He grits his teeth when yet another simulation fails to show him viable replacements for the arc reactor. He’s had JARVIS running them in the background, whatever RAM he can spare that wouldn’t undermine the rest of his computations, but they’ve all come back negative. 

He wants to scream, shout, tear down his screens and rip apart his machines. What’s the point of all this if he was going to die anyway? Who would he entrust the Ironman with? Gods, he needs to make a secondary unit that would fit someone else, so that his work could still live on. And like hell was he going to give it up to the government. 

“Jarvis, open up my will.” 

The document flashes up on the screen, all one hundred twenty three pages of it unfurled into a large wall text. 

He bites his lip, gathering himself for the right words to say.

“Amend section 12B. James Rhodes shall also hereby inherit the Ironman Mark 7. The Ironman Mark 7 may not be gifted, may not be considered as property, or otherwise undergo a change of ownership, and may only be held in the possession, and piloted by James Rhodes. Should the Ironman Mark 7 be operated through an external signal, or by anyone other than James Rhodes, Jarvis may and _will_ access the back code and re-secure the Ironman Mark 7 as property of Tony Stark, and will promptly be destroyed.” 

“Very well, sir. I take it that I shall be tracking the Mark 7's user protocols?” 

“Yep, biofeed and retina scanners for entry and flight. If it’s not Rhodey, eject the asshole who thinks he can take my suit and blow the 7 out on Stark Premises.” Tony decides, pinching his nose as he takes a drink from his veggie goop. 

“Protocols updated.” 

There. Done. JARVIS could do the rest, forward the changes to his lawyers and make it airtight.

“Save and close. Keep running those simulations. Everything from Earth and within Earth orbit. Top priority status.” 

“I’ll do my best, sir.” 

Tony dumps himself on the workshop couch, tumbler of health juice brought along as he down the rest of it. 

It tastes like grass and rust, with an almost sterile aftertaste that follows, reminds him of hospitals. 

Rage boils deep in his gut, his grip tightens on the tumbler. He throws it away in frustration, uncaring that it would break. 

Stevos catches the tumbler mid-throw, knelt to the ground, holding the container in one hand as he looks at Tony like a disapproving mother. 

“Dummy would take all night to gather every shard of glass.” 

“Dummy can go stuff himself in his charging bay if he treads on my toes one more time.” Tony sneers, throwing himself back onto the couch. 

There’s the sound of sad gear winding down, and tottering away into the deeper recesses of the couch. 

“He does not mean it. He loves you, you know.” Stevos calls after Dummy, pointedly giving Tony a look, which he ignores. 

The god had come visit as he had promised, around almost every other night. They talk, mostly, carefully skirting around more ominous topics and instead focus on lighter subjects. When Tony had asked if it was possible that Stevos be visible to others, the god merely smiled. Which made a blare of alarm as JARVIS informed him of the intruder. The bots also freaked out, Dummy rolled off into a corner, and U tried to spray Stevos with the fire.extinguisher. Needless to say, it caused quite a mess, and Stevos was incredibly apologetic about it. Which leads to second thing that they do. 

They fuck. 

A lot. 

He’s not ignorant. Half of the time Stevos doesn’t even come, and Tony can’t bring himself to care, which should bother him more now that he thinks about it. But he can’t, not when feels so sorry for himself. Even when there’s an actual god sucking his cock, very enthusiastically too, as soon as it’s all over, Tony’s either passed out, or is just too tired to reciprocate. There’s that sense of dread hovering on the edge of his mind. There to pry upon his thoughts if he lets it.

Sometimes though, Stevos is just there, a quiet, solid presence amidst the suffering that has become Tony’s life.

“What troubles you, Anthony?” Stevos asks, in that tone that Tony both loves and hates. Filled with a softness that places him on edge, and yet the god has done nothing to make him distrust him. Too many people have tried to take advantage of him, figures that the one person (god) that might not have any hidden motives could make Tony’s senses go haywire. 

“You don’t know? I thought you knew everything.” Tony smirks. 

Stevos is used to it by now, the snark that Tony hides behind, but it still earns him a frown every now and then, like the god wasn’t sure how to handle him. 

“I never claim to know all. Only that certain events are made known to me, as your god.” He adds at the end, as if Tony could ever forget. 

“Okay then, how does one become a god?” Tony diverts. 

Stevos regards him, and then walks forward to sit with Tony on the couch. Instinctively, Tony nestles into him, warm and soft where Tony can curl up by Stevos’s side. 

The god never complains, no matter how long Tony might use his body as a pillow. To which Tony would use to his full advantage. 

“One must first be a demi-god, of lineage to a god. And then. A great show of proof. An ultimate sacrifice.” Stevos says after a long time, his beautiful long fingers playing with the tumbler still in his hand. 

There’s a longing look in Stevos’s eyes, one that makes Tony’s insides ache, a pain that has nothing to do with the arc reactor. “Was that what you did? An ultimate sacrifice?” 

“It is a long story.” 

“I haven’t got any plans tonight.” 

Stevos chuckles and smiles at him, except this smile is so hollow. “I suppose you do not.” 

Tony waits, waits for the god to drop that smile and sigh, waits for him to find words that he wants to say. He can see it in the god’s eyes, forlorn in the moment, a memory brought back from Tony’s question. 

“I wasn’t always like this.” Stevos starts, motioning at himself with his free hand, careful not to jostle Tony from his position. “I was once a demi-god, half-god half-mortal. My mother, Athena, fell in love with my mortal father, who held the position of Captain in the army. He was a soldier, first and foremost, excelled in battle, brandished a sword with mastery, and commandeered the hearts of men when he spoke.” There was almost mock pride in Stevos’s voice. “But when he was thrust with a child, he floundered.” 

“I wasn’t always like this. As a youth, I was often sickly and lame. I wasn’t like the other children, I could not run out in the fields or wrestle with the rest. The cattle could tip me over without thought. My father saw me as a disgrace, though he never said it out loud.”

“Sounds like a shitty dad.” 

“Do not judge him so harshly.” Stevos says softly, an understanding smile at Tony’s direction. “My father was a prideful man. To raise a child alone was no easy task, but he asked no one for help. He provided me with a roof over my head, hot food, and warm clothes. I cannot agree with every decision he made, but I cannot fault him for his feelings towards his weakling of a son. He loved me in his own way.” 

Tony would disagree but he motions for Stevos to continue anyway. 

“I had a friend. Bucharus. He was also a demi-god, a son of Hermes, the messenger god, though he is also sometimes known as the god of thieves.” 

“Demi-gods have always been prophesized to do great things. To slay a beast or conquer a citadel were among the highest regards. Bucharus and I would often dream of going out on our own quest, idle daydream of the youth, and pray to the gods for an opportunity to prove ourselves. We couldn’t really, not when I could barely lift a sword, or walk a mile without needing a rest. But we pretended to be soldiers like most boys, practiced with stick for however long my chest would allow, or before Bucharus’s mother could drag us each by the ear with a stern word.” 

Tony could imagine that, a younger Stevos, running around, determined and stubborn, defiant even if he were smaller. He smiles at that and prods on. “Did you ever go on that quest?”

“We got our wish.” Stevos chuckled bitterly. “There was calamity in the lands, unusual tremors and storms. Demi-gods from the lands were called to the citadel, monster brought havoc to the smaller towns, causing chaos and killing anyone that crossed their path, but there was something larger afoot.” Stevos’s gaze was far, holding onto a distant memory, Tony can’t even imagine what he’s seeing, except it mustn't be good with how distraught the god looks. 

“It’s was months of tracking the beast, forging our way through mountains and fields, a trail of destruction wherever it went. A Hydra with eight heads.” Stevos says scathingly. “Many men died that day, good men, and many more died in the days after. But eventually we won it somehow, drove a pike right into it’s chest, and buried it in stone and gravel until we were sure that it was dead. Bucharus died, to make sure it wouldn’t rise again.” 

There was more to the story, Tony knows it, but he can’t bring himself to ask, not when he feels so tired himself, wrought in the battle that claimed his body. 

##########

The Vanko debacle only tightens the cord. Among the wreckage, he feels more vulnerable than ever. 

Stevos comes to visit later that night, holds him in his arms, tells him everything will be alright. 

Figures that even gods lie.

##########

Tony’s drunk. Drunk enough to let his best friend take his suit away from him, and trash his place. He’s angry, terribly so, that there is barely anything he can control anymore. 

He nearly fires a repulsor at Stevos when he appears, vaguely wonders if it would even do anything to the god if he did. 

“Anthony.” Ah, there it is. That tone of disapproval.

“Glad that you could join the party. You missed it by the way, it was a blast.” He laughs at his own joke, motions at the wreck that is his home. 

“Let’s get you out of that-” 

“No.” Tony snarls, because if there’s anything left that is his, it’s the suit. He powers the leg thrusters and pushes Stevos against the wall, trapping the god’s wrists with his gauntlets, his suit’s plates no doubt digging into Stevos’s chest. 

There’s surprise in the god’s eyes for a moment, gone when Tony tries to savor it. 

“Anthony-” 

“I bet you regret making me your patron now.” Tony snarls, raising the faceplate up so that Stevos can get a good look at his face. And also to properly yell at him, that seems important in the grand scheme of things. “I’m not a good man, Stevos, I’m fucking broken. You chose fucking wrong, and when I die, you’ll die too.” And shit, he almost feels like putting the gauntlets to his head and blasting himself at a hundred percent. Close contact without the helmet. A quick certain death.

He almost does, halfway through the motion before there’s suddenly a hand on his arm, prying it down, actually bending the metal and titanium as Stevos gives him a hard look, angrier than Tony has ever seen him. 

“Don’t.” Is all Stevos deems worthy to say, before he presses his tongue into Tony’s mouth, hard and bruising. 

Tony digs his fingers into Stevos’s hip, uncaring if the armor causes the god bruises. He’s so much more desperate to feel something real and solid, someone to blame for the sickness. Stevos is the perfect punching bag. 

It’s a tense minute, waiting for his machines to remove the rest of the armor, before they basically magnetize back together, Stevos seems much more desperate than before, a new bite to his kiss, an aggressive tongue between his lips. His fingers are near claws with how to grip onto Tony, digging into his flesh where he holds him, yet doesn’t draw blood even if it feels like the desperation ought to. 

All it takes is a twitch of Tony’s fingers, a suggestion of what he wants, and they’re fumbling into another room, where there was wreckage and debris falling from the ceiling. The house is at it’s post-party state, broken vases and littered drinks that happened before Rhodey had arrived to take the suit. 

But the couch is still in one piece, albeit, soaked with alcohol from the smell of it. 

Stevos doesn’t seem to mind that he’s laying on what must be a thousand dollars worth of gin, nor being stripped naked when Tony rips away the cheap fabric that covers his body. It’s soft and cottony in his hands, light and sinewy when he really clutches it in his fingers. It doesn’t make much sense, because if it were truly that fragile, it would have ripped a long time ago with how it stretches ridiculously over Stevos’s chest. It also doesn’t make much sense when he tosses the scrap of fabric and turns to look at Stevos, and finds him absolutely naked on the couch, shirt and pants gone, leaving him a dizzying display of flesh.

 _Magic_ , his mind supplies. _Fucking Magic._

It’s a beautiful display nonetheless, one normally Tony doesn’t have much time to admire when they go at it. He has a general idea of how glorious Stevos looks like, it does help that the god takes to wearing skin-tight clothes anyway, leaving very little to the imagination. 

But oh, imagination can only take Tony so far. Human, is the keyword to it all. Politely human, that is the extent of Tony’s imagination. He has had his fair eyeful of perfectly built male specimens, and has had the absolute pleasure of playing with them as well. 

They pale in comparison to Stevos. 

Tony gets it. The Greeks and Romans must have caught a glimpse of the gods, tried their best capture their beauty in marble. He would too, if he was given just an ounce of artistic talent.

Stevos’s body is hard, but Tony knows that intimately. A strong curve of biceps and triceps, beautiful wrists and huge palms. It’s dips and grooves of muscle, perfectly taut and defined, pectorals that curve spectacularly, an eight-pack that would make any bodybuilder weep with envy, a trim waist that forms an exaggerated V perfectly points to his hard cock. Legs that go one for miles, thighs as thick as tree trunks and slender ankles to perfect toes.

Not to mention. A killer jawline and tidy short-cropped blonde hair, blue eyes that should be impossible, and plump lips that tempt even the straightest man to kiss.

And Tony is weak. 

Stevos is temptation in tidy package, specifically the kind of man that Tony would have gone home with back in the day. Or would have tried to pay to get into his bed. The innocent home-grown next-door neighbor kind that Tony wouldn’t have had issues flirting with, to corrupt and show him all the dirty things they could be doing. 

Except. Stevos is the very reason for his frustration, perfectly perfect in spite of Tony’s injuries. While the god lays there, golden-skinned and ripped beyond all measure, Tony has to deal with the _thing_ on his heart that both saves and kills him. 

It’s for that very reason that he wants to tear Stevos apart, make him feel the pain and frustration that he feels. Make him hurt. 

He bears down on the god with ferocity, smashing their lips while he claws at Stevos’s sides, feels the flesh give and Stevos yelp against his tongue. He bites down on his lip until he tastes blood, slides his hands down to Stevos’s ass and grips them tightly. 

“Anthony.” Stevos breathes, head thrown back as Tony grazes teeth on the god’s neck, picks a spot and bites down hard as he squeezes on those globs of flesh. 

Stevos's pale skin marks easily, turns a harsh shade of red from his bite, indents of his teeth give him that strange euphoria of domination. He sucks another bruise into Stevos’s skin, licks at the flesh in mock apology. 

The god twists and moans, the hard jut of his cock pressing right at Tony’s navel, leaking pre-cum and the swollen head peaking from the foreskin. Tony is intimately knowledgeable of Stevos’s cock, a certain thick vein running on its side, that if he were to trace it it would drive Stevos mad with lust, bring him to orgasm faster than anything else. 

He doesn’t, he wants this to be long and torturous. 

It’s why he fondles Stevos’s balls instead, rolls them in his palm, smooth and hairless, taut with arousal. He yanks them sharply, Stevos sucking in a breath at what must be pain and pleasure too garbled in one. 

“Hands on the arm rest.” Tony snarls, glaring at Stevos’s hands, ones that have been rubbing at his chest, torturing his own nipples with soft touches. 

There’s something akin to a sob before Stevos moves his arms over his head, and it sends a ripple throughout muscles when he clenches on the arm rest of Tony’s couch. 

Splayed out for him, Tony thinks that Stevos must be the most beautiful being he has ever seen. 

He wants to ruin him, so bad. 

He’s not gentle, not in any of the ways he could be. It’s desperation and hunger rolled into one when he pushes his fingers into Stevos’s mouth, forcing those plush lips open, thumbs his chin when Stevos lathers his digits with spit. 

“Go on, suck. I’m not going to get the lube.” Tony encourages, forcing his fingers in deeper, enamored by the hot heat and slick. He watches as Stevos’s expression turns wanton, a blush rising on heated cheeks while he sucks and runs his tongue around Tony’s fingers.

It’s not long before he’s too impatient, yanks away the fingers and presses them right into Stevos’s hole in one sharp flick. 

Stevos howls and tenses. Tony has never penetrated his ass before, has only ever played with the rim. But now Tony fucks him mercilessly with his fingers, forcing the two spit-slicked digits in and out, reaching deep into the crevices of Stevos’s tight ass. “Take it.” He growls when Stevos starts to squirm, his abs flexing. “Keep your legs open.” 

There’s a hitch of breath and Stevos does just that, spread his legs impossibly wide on the couch, cock standing proud while Tony’s fingers work their way in just under his balls. It’s a bad angle, Tony can’t get his fingers as deep as he wants but he can see Stevos’s wanton expression and that’s what counts.

Except when Stevos brushes a hand over his chest, touches the arc reactor and traces the black spidery veins that crawls from his heart. It’s a vicious anger that grips his chest. This flawless god beneath him, sculpted from flesh and marble, a reminder of his own mortality.

He can’t bear to look at the reminder for long, he slaps Stevos to turn around, scratching his waist.

“Lean forward, hands on the couch, stick out your ass.” He barks out orders, and when Stevos puts his ass out, legs balancing him on the couch, spread just enough to see his hole, Tony loses it. 

He spits on his own hand, gives himself a hungry stroke, cock jumping in his hand, and shoves himself right into Stevos. He pushes and pushes, the head of his cock popping into Stevos’s hot heat and he fucks into him is short sharp thrusts until he’s all the way to his base. 

There’s nothing but spit and pre-cum that lets him, and it’s entirely amazing when he bottoms out, feels Stevos shudder with the roughness of it all. If Stevos were human, he would probably be bleeding right now. He slaps Stevos right on the ass, moaning himself when that tight heat shivers around his cock, and breathes in to make sure he doesn’t come. 

His grip is vice-like on Stevos’s hips, uncaring if they mark or hurt, and snaps right into Stevos’s ass. “Holy fuck, you feel so good. How the hell are you this tight.” Tony moans, loses himself to the slick heat of Stevos wrapped like a glove around his cock. Each thrust is like chasing heaven, electricity through his veins. Each burn of friction is better than the last, every slap of his balls to Stevos’s ass is a jolt of desire to go deeper and harder. 

And Stevos moans so prettily, like a whore who’s never had cock, opening wide for him and giving him everything like a promised lover, panting for him. Even Stevos’s back is a sight to behold, firmly laid with muscle, the dip of his spine that only makes his ass seem more plump. That incredible waist that Tony latches on for dear life, tugging him onto his cock until Tony develops a punishing pace, pounding right into Stevos until he sees his rim, puffy and agitated. 

All too soon he can feel his encroaching orgasm, and there’s bitter anger that this will be over so soon. 

He squeezes Stevos’s ass one more time, pulling out completely and stretches out Stevos’s hole with his fingers, gaping from where his cock had been, pink and red from friction, wet from saliva and cum. 

“Turn around.” Tony says, breathless and agitated. 

Stevos does so, eyes closed shut, mouth open in expectation. 

And it’s that sight that propels Tony. Shoving his cock into the hot heat of Stevos's mouth, he curls his hand onto his short hair and fucks his mouth for all it's worth. 

Stevos's throat constricts around him, convulsing as the god takes him without choking. It’s all too much, Tony pulls out, coming all over Stevos’s face, rubbing the head of his cock onto that slippery tongue, until it feels like every drop of cum has been wrung out from his body. 

Tony strips Stevos’s cock efficiently until the god is also coming, semen spurting all the way to his chin, flecks of it covering his chest while the rest pools over his abs. 

Stevos pants noisily, recovering from his orgasm, eyes glazed over from the intensity of their fucking. 

Tony makes a motion to leave, but Stevos grabs his arm. It’s not enough to keep him there, and Tony considers just leaving anyway. But some part of him carries the guilt of his actions, the part that hasn’t been eaten away by bitterness suggests that he stay with Stevos, as a repentance. 

After all, it’s not like he’s got much time left anyway. 

##########

He’s craving for some donuts, and maybe a little hungover. It’s not the worst idea in the world to use the suit for an express drive thru, he feels like he owes himself some leeway and fuck all who want to stop him. 

Except apparently some super secret spy guy comes to talk some sense to him, and Pepper’s hot legal assistant jabs him with drugs that make breathing easier than it has been in months. 

“It’s not the cure but it’ll buy you some time.” 

“I’ve tried every possible combination, every element known to mankind.” 

“Well then, I’m here to tell you that you haven’t tried all of them. Check Howard’s previous files. You might just find what you’re looking for.” 

##########

And that’s how he ends up flying a chest full of Howard’s thing back home sealed conveniently and utterly without any other instructions. Howard did always like his secrets, figured that even with helping Tony he’d give him a puzzle to solve first.

Iron man suit taken apart, he decides to check if Stevos is still around, then he stops. 

The man on the couch is undeniably Stevos, Tony would recognize that jawline anywhere, but there’s something utterly and obviously wrong. Instead of the normally bulky, muscular god, there lays a small button a blonde.

Stevos has shrunk, that is what Tony concludes, and what his brain decides to catalogue this phenomenon. Gone are the perfect edges that would make underwear models weep, instead there small curves that _suggest_ muscle. A gaunter face, thin with prominent cheekbones from how sunken his cheeks look and that killer jaw. His collarbones taking similar silhouettes under pale skin. Tony can only see half of his chest, but it’s enough to raise some red flags. 

Spidery black veins, similar to the ones Tony sports himself, crawls from Stevos’s heart. Long thin lines that are gaunt against his thin chest. There’s no arc reactor, but that only magnifies the problem. On the center of his chest is scarring and dark tissue, like it’s been scratched out and put back together by a blind man, puckered skin and scars that stretch across his chest. Almost like the edges of his arc reactor. 

Tony’s not sure how long he stands there, staring at the tiny god. It could be five minutes, it could be fifty, but it’s long enough that Stevos squirms awake, nudges the blankets out of the way with spindly limbs. The little god blinks awake and offers a smile. Only to be alert and worried the next at the sight of Tony’s expression. 

“What’s wrong, Anthony?” At least his voice hasn’t changed, still deep and authoritative.

“You-” Tony doesn’t know how to explain, instead points at Stevos. 

There’s confusion, and then it’s like a thought occurs to him. Stevos brings up his hands, sudden realization and shock before a frantic look at Tony, standing in surprise, pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

It’s an instant. Tony blinks and the Stevos before him is as he was, large and muscular, built like a brick wall and could probably tear one down too. 

Except, the sight of the god’s smaller form doesn’t leave his thoughts. In his mind’s eyes, he can still see the withered god on the couch, superimposed against what Stevos looks now. 

“No!” It breaks from his mouth, right on the tip of his tongue when Stevos gives him a curious look, tumbling right out without much thought. “Turn back. That’s how you normally look, right?” He feels like he doesn’t have to ask, he just knows. 

Stevos looks at him with a pained expression. “Why?” It’s soft, hurt and a little petulant. 

“I want to see.” He knows he sounds like a spoiled child, but he has questions, ones that he’s sure Stevos would answer but he wants to see with his own eyes.

It’s only a moment’s hesitation before Stevos phases into the tinier form. The veins are back, and so are the bruises, but Stevos looks no less guarded in this form than the other, jaw clenched shut. 

Tony closes the space between them and, for once, looks down on the god. Eyes still bluer than blue, no less charming when seen from below, they carry a blaze of defiance, almost daring. Tony isn’t so stupid as to rise to the bait, but he thinks it must be part of Stevos’s charm. Instead, he focuses back on the dark threads from his chest, draws a finger to trace over the lines of Stevos’s chest. 

Still muscular, contrary to his initial glance, lean in a way that said of use instead of outright decoration. But it is still marred by scratches and black lines. Lines that Tony was utterly familiar with. 

“You’ve been doing this, all along.” He says after a beat. He sort of knows what it does. God magic or whatever. Stevos had said so before, he would lend him his strength. 

It dawns on him. Energy, Stevos lends him energy. Strength in it’s most basic sense. Power, the kind that can be transferrable between two bodies. Suddenly, it’s not magic at all, just science. The god must have a conduit of some kind, stable enough to transfer energy from one being to another, if he could just harness- 

“Yes.” Stevos quietly, breaking Tony from his thoughts. 

“Why? I mean, no, not what I meant. I understand why you would do it. But. _Why_ didn’t you tell me? You let me-” Tony’s face sours, makes a frantic gesture at Stevos. “You let me just _do_ things to you, and you let me think that I was alone in it.” 

The pained expression on Stevos’s face shows for just a moment, before schooled perfectly into the usual cool gaze often worn by the god, albeit in miniature form. “I did not want to cause you any more distractions than necessary, it would have done you no service to know that I was siphoning some of your sickness.” 

“But you let me just-” _Rape you_ is on the tip of his tongue but he can’t bring himself to say it, too ashamed to admit it out loud even when he knows there’s no other way to describe his actions. 

“I let you have me as you needed.” Stevos says. “If that meant a friend you could tell your woes to, a silent shadow or a sexual partner, I was glad to fill those roles.” 

They’re silent for a while, Tony processing what has been said but coming to a loop. All the times where he raged and ranted at the god, when he thought that Stevos wasn’t going to help him. His drunken tirades, his inexcusable greed, the anger that boiled deep in his only showed his true colors. Stripped of hope, he had turned into an angry greedy man, to the only being that he could harm. 

“I don’t deserve you.” He chokes out, knees giving way as he falls to the floor in his anguish.

But, just like always, Stevos catches him before he falls, cradles him in large arms and hot skin. He’s huge again, covered in muscle and overbearing but maybe that’s what Tony needs.

Tony cries, Stevos holding him tight while he sobs uncontrollably over the god’s shoulder. “You deserve me more than I deserve you.” The god whispers, though Tony can’t make sense of it. His head hurts and he’s too tired to worry about it. “You are wonderful in all the things you do.” Stevos still feels good around him despite the lie, the fingers running along his back helps ground him. 

They stay like that for a while, until Tony gets sore from the position and Stevos moves him to the couch. He feels crumpled, battered and heavy, but oddly enough it feels like he’s been remade. The crying had been phase one, but he didn’t have much time, not enough to mope around like he’d been doing the past week. 

##########

“You’ve found a cure.” Stevos says hopefully, dragging the large suitcase into the makeshift projection room. 

“Don’t know. The guy with the eye patch said it would help, and that Dad was more than he appeared.” 

“Fathers are often harsh on their children, especially if they are their only child.” Stevos nods with understanding. “He must have seen so much of him in you, when you were younger.” 

Tony frowns at that. He resents Howard, always had ever since their first disagreements and when Howard would always say he wouldn’t understand anything because he was just a kid. Even when he grew up, following so closely to Howard’s footsteps, his old man still regarded him with such disdain that it was a while before he stopped blaming himself and started blaming Howard. 

They settle down on folding chairs, the first clip of Howard’s dream utopia on screen, and watch.

##########

Rhodey and the Air Force drones are on his tail, thankfully Ivan hadn’t had much time to put more weapons on his drone. The bad news, they still had weapons, and the ones _not_ following him are terrorizing civilian. 

“Anthony! I’m coming!” He figures it’s some kind of telepathic thing. Ugh, magic. 

“No, stay down there, help the civilians evacuate, I got this handled.” 

“You do not!” He can hear the scathing tones from the god, even while he swerves and ducks to avoid most of the gunfire, the rest scrapping off the Iron Man suit. “You do _not_ have this handled, there are fifteen alone following you, and ten more locked on you.” 

“Help the civilians. You are not at a hundred percent right now.” He grunts, even while he narrowly avoids a drone headed straight for him. “It’s less for me to worry about. Take out the drones on the ground, make sure everyone gets out alive. That’s an order, soldier.” 

There’s something like a snarl but Stevos remains quiet. From his scans, some of the drones are going offline even while he performs another summersault in the air while fending off Pepper’s hysteria. 

“You just got your bestfriend back, Stark.” Comes the not-so-mysterious transmission.

“Finally. Thanks, Romanov.”

When the fighting is done, and his brand-kicking-new arc reactor is down to fifteen percent, he lands on a particular rooftop. It doesn’t surprise him that Stevos is there waiting, in his soldier outfit and shield held abreast. Not a scratch on him, nor a hair out of place, but he has a stony look about him. 

“You destroyed the rest of the drones?” Tony vestures, unsure why Stevos looks so upset. 

“Yes, their carcases lay scattered around your exhibit. The other mortals have been evacuated, no deaths, and injured parties have been carried away for healing.” 

“Oh good, thank god. I just need to sit down real quick and catch my-” 

“You are an idiot!” Stevos snarls at him, aggressive steps forward, enough for Tony to nearly fall backwards in his suit. “What is the _point_ of my being here if you refuse ny help regardless, and send me off to help other mortals! I am suppose to protect _you_. You are my Patron, not them, they barely hold a candle to your flame! Why must you be so stubborn?!” Stevos is right up to his face, fingers curled over his breastplate. Anger, pain, frustration, illuminated by the light of his arc reactor. 

His heart has either decided to beat out of his chest, or has become catatonic. There’s a ringing in his ears that might just after effects of all the explosions or it might be the pitch of Stevos’s voice that renders him deaf to anything else. “I-” 

“Tones!” Warmachine’s engines cut off, and the dull _clunk clunk_ of titanium boots to cement fills the rest of the gap. “We kicked some robot _ass_. Definitely could get used to this. You okay there? For a moment it looked like you were getting ready to get beat up.” 

Stevos scoffs and turns around, annoyance in his steps. “He can’t see me. Act normal.” Stevos grunts. 

“I- Uh. Adrenaline? Still shaking it off, post traumatic stress? I’m getting old?” Tony says, distracted, eyes darting from Rhodey to behind him, on the floor, on some rubble, anywhere but Stevos. Rhodey at least looks sympathetic. 

“Need me to call someone? An ambulance? Paramedics? Happy? Pepper?” 

“Pepper, she’s going to want to know I’m safe and alive. Mostly because it would mean a fuck ton of paperwork for the company.” 

“Don’t want to call her yourself?” 

“You know how she is.” Tony can almost feel like he isn’t lying, easy smile, avoiding the subject altogether while Rhodey nods in understanding. 

He jets back home after another round of insistent questioning from Rhodey, mostly his friend wanted to make sure he was alright but Tony isn’t known for straight answers when it came to his health. It didn’t help that Rhodey still doesn’t know about how he almost killed himself with palladium poisoning, and then prevented it with his dad’s notes from years ago. That story would have to come after a round of stiff drinks. 

Stevos doesn’t greet him at the door, in fact, Tony has high hopes that the god has plain fucked off because of Tony’s shit, if it meant he wouldn’t have to face the music. 

But as it is, he isn’t so lucky. Once the suit is disassembled, Stevos is right there in the lab, a medkit in tow and frustrated look to boot. He doesn’t even bother to act surprise, just sits down and takes the brunt of Stevos’s prodding for injuries. Which aren’t a lot, considering. Mostly bruising from when he was being bashed around. 

Stevos breaks the silence. “You could have died.” 

“Other people could have died.” He fires back, picking up where they had left off from the rooftop. 

Stevos takes a long, deep breath and looks at him. And for once, Tony can’t place the emotions there. Stevos, who is so easy to read, suddenly appears like a brick wall. No malice. No anger. Just stands there while Tony collapses on the couch. 

He hadn’t been lying to Rhodey. The adrenaline, the excitement of flying again, fear of death, his heart in his throat, it exhausted him. He’d been ready to crash into bed were it not for Stevos. 

And the god still hasn’t said a word but he does come closer. 

It doesn’t take much, Stevos loops an arm underneath Tony’s legs, another on his back to keep him steady while he carries him off. There’s a stubborn part of his mind to wriggle free and plant his ass back on the couch, but then the rest if his brain complains that everything feels too heavy to fight Stevos off, and Stevos has never hurt him despite multiple opportunities to. 

He really shouldn’t be surprised when he’s gently placed on the bed, Egyptian cotton and memory foam, barely used as little more than a decoration piece. What does surprise him is when Stevos starts divesting him of his clothes.   
Shoes come off first. Industrial grade slip-on boots Tony designed specifically for wearing in the suit, or at least until he figures out a solution to his scuffed leathers. They are settle neatly on the side of the bed, carefully placed by Stevos before he moves further.

Pants go next, and yet there’s nothing sexual about it, the clingy bottom half of his undersuit peeled away and folded properly. He's got briefs on, which saves both of them from his nakedness for the time being. Already he can see a darkening bruise on his calf. It doesn’t hurt yet but he knows it’ll be a bitch to deal with in the morning. 

His undershirt goes last, and then he’s bare for Stevos to touch, huge hot hands roaming over his chest, pauses between bruises. There’s a light touch to his throat, tipped just to the side, a low hum of approval yet he captures Tony’s chin between his fingers. 

“You could have died.” It’s said with such relief that Tony himself relaxes. 

“But I didn’t.” He replies, tries to smile but gulps it down at Stevos’s stern gaze. 

“But you could have.” Steve insists, that twitch in his jaw that meant he was infuriated but withheld it. 

Tony’s back on the rooftop, stiff and resolute, except he’s got less clothes on and the smell of petrol didn’t stain the air. “And everyone else could have died if it wasn’t for me. Vanko wanted _me_. He would have killed everyone else just to get to me.” 

Stevos looks affronted. “You are _not_ responsible for everyone around you. Mortals are selfish, you take what you want, you all have your own goals and aspirations. What is one mortal's life?” 

Tony’s gaze darkens. He’s shaking, the heaviness in his chest making it difficult to breathe but he focuses on Stevos. On the furrowed brows and haughty eyes, a mixture of pride and an argument on his lips. “Dunno. You saved my life. One petty little _mortal_. You tell me.” 

“I did not mean-” 

Tony cuts him off. “I know. _Me_. That’s all you care about. Because I’m your precious little _Patron_ and you’d be dead without me.” 

Stevos at least has the capacity to look ashamed. “Your brashness will kill you someday. You know this and yet you charge in so recklessly.” 

“I thought you were the god of bravery, I’d think you would approve.” 

“There is a difference between bravery and _foolhardiness_.” Stevos replies sharply, but already appears to be giving up. “To seek Death is not bravery. You might escape it today but Death looms on the horizon of every fool who thinks they can defy him.”

“I don’t look for trouble. _Okay?_ It finds me, so I have to deal with that problem, even if it means flirting with death.”

“That doesn’t mean you ought to give it your best effort.” Stevos sighs, shakes his head, stands up. Tony nearly chases after his warmth, and it’s only through sheer will power that he stays rooted to the bed, fist clenched at his side. 

The god turns his back to him, arms folden over his chest. Brooding. But when he turns around, there’s something wrong. Tony’s not sure. There’s a glisten to the god, something utterly wrong, like he’s made of ceramic than flesh. The way one feels when looking at a photoshopped image. There's something wrong, but you don’t know what until it’s pointed out. As it is, Stevos looks perfectly calm, were it not for the glisten Tony would have thought that he’d been forgiven.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to leave for a while. I have duties that I have left unattended.” Stevos says in that strangely blank tone. “Your enemies are gone, or at least abated for the time being. By no means am I abandoning you. It’s simply that… It’s a little too much for me.” His voice soften. “I’d like a moment to regain myself.” 

Tony hears it. Hears years of being told he’s never good enough, not nearly good enough to be with. Too much, Tony, you’re just too much. Suffocating, really, don’t be so clingy. But he swallows that down, tries not to sound like a spoiled brat when he says, “Okay. Yeah, let’s take a break.” 

##########

It’s not so bad, Tony convinces himself. There’s cleanup and public relation to handle for the expo, which is normally Pepper’s job but even he feels like she’s been working to the ground these days. She’d rescinded her promotion for CEO, which meant a nasty amount of paperwork to sign _himself_ back his position, and the back to court trials regarding the Iron Man suit. Rhodey's back on his side and he’s pinned as a national treasure.

He’s busy. Busy is good. Busy means that he doesn’t have to think about the absence of a certain god. Busy means he’s down in the lab, roused only for required meetings, and is otherwise unavailable to the world. Busy means his mind can focus on several things and pointedly ignore one. 

Fuck Fury and Natalia. Fuck their assessment. But he doesn’t argue with consultations, he trusts no one else with weapons and blueprints for their super secret boyband. If he couldn’t be part of it, then the least he could do was be their floor manager and make sure they had the best equipment possible. 

He thinks it’s almost normal, or at least, as normal it could have been after Afghanistan, there was no going back from there, a clear definite line from then and now. 

Somehow, it feels like be’s drifting. From one thing to the next. The new arc reactor hasn’t been fully tested yet, but he’s putting her through her paces and so far she’s holding steady. He’s learned his lesson and has a couple of backups in his safe, and he has JARVIS run extra simulations in case this one fails too. He wants to be prepared for next time. 

It’s three weeks before he breaks. Three solid weeks of being dead on his feet, trying to fix the expo and trying to make things up to Pepper and Rhodey. 

He doesn’t tell them the details, gruelling months of scraping his nails on the blackboard until he felt so hopeless, certainly doesn’t tell them about Stevos. Neither are really oaths he wants to revisit, and it’s strange that both have equal weight on his heart whenever he thinks about them. 

Tony lays on his bed, curled tightly around soft blankets and smooth lines, yet he cannot sleep. He twists and turns, fighting out thoughts and anxiety, until finally he lets out a sob. 

“Stevos, please.” 

There’s no wind, no sound, no indication that something has arrived. Like all the previous times, there’s simply arms around him, strong and sure. It’s near instinctive when he grasps at Stevos’s arm. 

“Anthony.”

It’s like he hadn’t been gone at all. Except he has, and Tony aches for him. He kisses Stevos like a drowning man, no finesse and drinks him in like his life depended on it. A desperate rut of cock on cock, hard pressure and heated skin all at once. 

“Stevos. Fuck. _Stevos_.” 

“I have you, Anthony. Do not cry.” 

It should be humiliating then, to be swept off his feet, whisked up by the god in what he knows is the way to the bedroom. But he doesn’t care much for it, holds onto Stevos like he’s afraid to let him go, presses his lips to each bit of skin he can. 

He breathes hard when Stevos lays him on the bed, feels utterly hopeless underneath his gaze. Part of him is still anxious that the god will just leave, the other part of him hates to see the god so sullen and unsure. The hesitation between them is Tony’s fault, he knows it, even while Stevos might not say it. 

So he pools his legs underneath him, gets to his knees and curls a hand over the god’s chest, bare to him, a solid heat that resonates from within. 

“Will you-” 

“Yes, whatever you want.” And Tony hates it that Stevos sounds so eager to please, desperation riddled in his voice, but he has his request in mind.

“Will you lose the illusion?” 

It’s confusion on Stevos’s face, and then hesitation but he nods all the same. Gone is the muscular toned god, in a blink of the eye, a familiar form appears. Smaller, paler and sharp cheekbones, Stevos gives him a defiant look. 

Blue eyes no less blue, Tony runs a trail from his cheek to his neck, easy now that Stevos was shorter than him, studies the jutting collarbones and down to pert nipples. He is no less warm either, and no less beautiful. Here he can catch the blush on Stevos’s face, all the way down his chest. 

“Beautiful.” He says out loud, which only serves to deepen the blush. 

“You need not tease. I know why it is you wish me in this form.” Stevos admits with a sigh, shoulders slumping down in defeat. 

“And why’s that?” Defensive. 

“You wish to humiliate me.” Stevos says with such certainty that Tony feels offended, but then Stevos continues. “It will not work. I am no less strong in this body, as I’ve said before, I merely appear in whatever form you seem fit to dress me in.” It’s impatience, Tony realizes, and perhaps defensive on his own terms. “I had not planned to trick you into thinking I was… Large and muscular. Your mind provided the example to work with and…” Stevos shakes his head, appears flustered. You provided your ideal hero, and I only took the role and the costume. It is normal, mortals think of strength in terms of size and raw power, and this form does not exactly… Exude that power.” Stevos ends with a slump, a tired frown on his narrow lips. 

“That’s why I want you in this form?” Tony presses, wonders who Stevos is trying to explain to.

“Why else would you?” There’s almost relief, perhaps to thinking he was right. “You wish to show me that I am not as powerful as I might appear. You wish to, as you mortals, say 'knock me down a peg’.” Stevos frown only deepens. “But it will not work, I am neither stronger or weaker in this form, nor any other form. It matters very little of what I look like.” 

Tony, very carefully, takes Stevos’s hands in his, thumbing a extruded knuckle. He feels calluses, rough and weathered by battle that were missing on the god’s larger form. He had thought it odd, the god was clearly some kind of warrior, but his hands had been smooth and soft, as if he had never done any labor at all. Here, he can see the trickery, how much the illusion could fool his senses. It’s a bitter realization, being lied to, but he also understand that Stevos meant no harm in it, probably thought that he was just giving Tony what he wanted. 

“I kind of understand why you did it.” Tony mules over, not sure why he has to say it out loud except for the reason that he wants Stevos to know. 

“You would not have believed me out in the desert. You might have picked Loki instead.” Stevos scoffs, but he lets his scarred hands be examined. 

“Would I have had the choice?” 

“Of course.” 

“You made him go away after he smirked at me!” 

“I gave you the choice after.” Stevos rolls his eyes, clearly reading the way Tony wanted to argue. “If you had rejected me, I am sure Loki would have returned to persuade you.” 

“Am I worth that much?” 

“You still doubt your worth?” Stevos says, genuinely surprised. “I have told you, time and time and again that you will change the world, Anthony. This.” Stevos runs a palm over the arc reactor, and it's always so strange that it doesn’t feel invasive, like Stevos is meant to touch it. “Will help guide you and your vision for the world.” Stevos smiles, looks just as proud as any, even while Tony must look so disgusting after crying his eyes out. 

It’s a slow dance after that, Tony exploring, or rather re-exploring Stevos’s body. It’s nice to know that all his spots have remained unchanged, except there are parts that Tony likes a little better now. 

The god fits perfectly in his arms. Without the extra bulk, he can curls his arm over the god’s naked chest, find leverage on the bed, and manage to fuck right into from behind. All without straining himself. 

Stevos’s narrow hips are a blessing, fitting his palms perfectly while he presses his cock inside him. He can still bottom all the way in, his balls pressed right to the skin of Stevos’s little ass as he fucks him slow and steady. He’s not sure, or maybe it’s the euphoria of the situation, but Stevos feels hotter, tighter around his cock, and all too enthusiastic about getting fucked. 

From there, he can kiss Stevos’s back, make it all the way up to his spine, and settle his chin on the god’s shoulder, panting right on the god’s ear. 

“Holy fuck you feel good.” Tony breathes, picking up the base as the heat in his legs start to make it hard to concentrate. 

“Yes, Anthony, there. Gods! There!” Stevos moans, thrusting back on his cock as he bows his head low on the bed. 

It should be easy to fall right back. Stevos should be mad at him. Tony shouldn’t be so desperate for Stevos. But it works. 

Tony manages to cajole Stevos onto his back. With his legs spread, he looks about as wanton as he could be, and gorgeous to boot. Flushed chest, lean muscle, cock hard, legs spread obscenely wide for Tony. 

And Tony takes advantage of it, slips his cock right back inside and finds his rhythm. In and out, pumping right into Stevos as the slap of skin-on-skin echoes in the room, his hole slick and tight all at the same time.

Tony kisses him as he comes, ravages Stevos’s mouth as Stevos’s body turns taut with arousal, Tony pumping the god’s cock with one hand while the other grips Stevos’s hair to make sure he doesn’t move. He pulses with his orgasm, coming deep inside Stevos, punctuating each wave of cum with a quick snap of hips until even Stevos is coming, clenching fast and hard around his cock, making him shiver and writhe with overstimulation. 

The god, there’s no other word for it, keels over, a thin wrist thrown over his eyes, panting to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Tony bursts out when he’s finally has enough of his brain to speak, bolting up and away from Stevos. “I shouldn’t have. What I did- Taking advantage and- How could you possibly!! Here. You. Why would you-” It’s shame, guilt, desperation, bubbling in his chest, thoughts he has to get out, but the words are jumbled in his lungs, caught and choking him so that all he can do is gawp like a fish. 

Stevos sits up, starts making hushing sounds and cups Tony’s face in his palms. “Calm, Anthony, calm.” He says in that deep commanding voice, strokes a thumb over Tony cheek, brings him in close and lets Tony rest his tear-drenched cheeks on his chest. 

It’s the kindness that kills him, making him sob yet he clings to the god even more, throwing his arms around Stevos’s thin waist. He still feels so warm, solid and strong. All the while, Stevos holds him tight, run his hands over his nape, through his hair, continuously swiping away his tears. “It’s alright, Anthony. I forgive you. It’s alright. I know you regret it.” Stevos mutters non-stop, in one combination or another. 

He feels broken and battered, in both mind and body, a tipping point where there’s nothing holding him together anymore. Nothing except Stevos’s sure hands, providing him strength, like a pillar. Reinforcement, he thinks through the tears. Like when a dam was about to break, reinforce it with wood and supports to stop a disaster. Like his suit, after it’s been shot, pierced and whipped, he rummages right through, change what needs to be changed, and reinforces it to be better and stronger. 

He’s not sure if he’s worth the effort, as battered as he is, but Stevos holds him throughout the night, gives him water and washes them both down. They stay by the couch with the television turned to something light, Tony feels exhausted but he knows he won’t be able to sleep. Stevos doesn’t complain, he never does, just stays by his side, comments politely at the show they’re watching, and holds Tony securely.

In Stevos’s arms, he feels precious.


End file.
